Something they would have said; but seemed to fear
To trust their accents to Medora's ear.
She saw at once, yet sunk not—trembled not— 1260
Beneath that grief—that loneliness of lot—
Within that meek fair form were feelings high
That deem'd not till they found their energy.
While yet was Hope—they soften'd—flutter'd—wept—
All lost—that softness died not—but it slept—
And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,
"With nothing left to love—there's nought to dread."
'Tis more than nature's; like the burning might
Delirium gathers from the fever's height.
"Silent you stand—nor would I hear you tell 1270
"What—speak not—breathe not—for I know it well—
"Yet would I ask—almost my lip denies
"The—quick your answer—tell me where he lies?"
"Lady! we know not—scarce with life we fled;
"But here is one denies that he is dead:
"He saw him bound; and bleeding—but alive."
She heard no further—'twas in vain to strive—